


Love to Hate You (or something like that)

by SmexyWatermelon



Category: Fallout (Video Games), Fallout 4
Genre: Angst and Smut, F/M, Oneshot, Oral Sex, Sex, Somehow, even the smoke smokes, everyone smokes, spoilers for endgame faction quests, what if the railroad was decimated but sole was still on their side
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-01-06
Updated: 2017-01-06
Packaged: 2018-09-15 07:04:49
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,323
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9224249
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SmexyWatermelon/pseuds/SmexyWatermelon
Summary: I didn't get the vanilla romance for Deacon, tried to go for the Rivalmance.





	

**Author's Note:**

> I have been trying to understand Deacon’s character for a while. It goes without saying that I haven’t yet and probably never will, so I tried to turn the rage into some drabbles XD let me know if it worked.

He had received her deadrop days ago, and had been eagerly waiting for the day of their meeting: she had given him a specific location, a precise hour – something too calculated not to sparkle the sixth sense of the tinfoil-hat wearer paranoid in him.  
It had taken him some time to scout it all, make sure she wasn’t setting up a trap. For all he knew, she was working for the enemy right now.  
The Railroad decimated, all those hard-built contacts shattered to the wind as the Institute had gone on a killing spree to hunt down the last members and destroy the remaining safe houses… and yet she had saved the HQ. He didn’t understand her, not anymore. Her motives were a mystery, just like the reason she had tried to save part of the Railroad: he, Tom and Des were some of the last few survivors of the terrible clash against the Brotherhood.

He paces quietly towards the meeting point: a rooftop. Damn, she knew how to bitch when she wanted.  
He gulps his witty remarks about height and stops as far as he can from the ledge, hands in his pockets.  
In front of him, an incredible view over the city, Whisper sitting on a ragged chair with her back towards him.  
“It was about time.” She murmurs without turning around. She stubs out the cigarette she had been smoking on the table in front of her and stands up from the patio chair on which she had been sitting, the ragged courser coat she was wearing flopped as she stood on her feet, loosely hanging from her shoulders.  
“You have sure been sitting on your ass for a long time, Dee.” She says, stretching her arms above her head with an almost cat-like movement.

He doesn’t take the provocation – he’s not even sure he has the energies to do it. She had cost much to the Railroad, and he had actually been running all around the Commonwealth for the past week trying to put together the last shards she had left behind.  
“Why did you want to meet with me, Whisp?”  
He gulps, paranoia taking over again. Could he have left something uninspected? Were there hidden snipers? Was she going to-  
_Dammit, pull it together._ he scolds himself, focusing again on his ‘ally’.

Whisper turns around to glare at him, her hips slightly swaying with her movement.

The angles of her lips turn upwards in a sensual smirk, and she asks her next question pretending she didn’t know the answer. “Still angry at me?”  
“Never stopped being.” Deacon replies with a smile but almost through gritted teeth, his head slightly shaking once.  
He couldn’t kill her because she was sadly the Railroad’s last hope of surviving – maybe, if he didn’t end up with a combat knife in his back – just maybe, he would cash his revenge, but he knew he had to wait for it until later. For now, he could only wait for events to unfold, and this was driving him mad.

She chuckles - _chuckles_ \- at him, taking a couple of steps towards him, but keeping the distance between the two of them.  
“Fine, I’ll give you this, I got a little sloppy lately, but…” there’s a smile plastered on her face as she says that: she either didn’t give a fuck about his organization – his whole life – being destroyed, or she had picked up too many of his teachings. The point is, he couldn’t tell which one anymore, and that scared him.

“Just… trust me on this, solely on this last one. I’m not asking for more.” He’s uncertain for a moment, thinking he might just burst into a laugh and let that be his answer.  
“Trust you?!?” eyes widening behind sunglasses, fists clenching at his sides. “You have sold half of our people! You have destroyed safe houses, families, entire sleeping cells! And now you ask me to trust you?!?”  
She made a disgruntled noise and rolled her eyes “A couple of safe houses have fallen. Yes, some of those, have been my fault. But I needed to feed something to the Institute if I wanted to make it work, and I grant you this is the first step to bring everyone else definitely down!” he’s tempted to trust her. He’s tempted to give his silent consent one last time, but all those lives lost to the enemy… he had had enough of listening to her.  
“It’s not just the safe houses! That fucking robot too!” he gestures towards the airship, where Liberty Prime was parked. “I find it hard to believe you’ve _ever_ tried to work for us! If you did, you’re the worst agent we’ve ever had!”

Her gaze follows the direction he’s pointing at: even though the two of them were distant, he could still hear her saying, while looking towards the Prydwen “You tell a good agent from a perfect one because the latter doesn’t let anyone know about their plans.”  
He takes the opportunity to get the pistol from the back of his pants: he didn’t want to hurt her (that much), he just needed to see what her response would have been. Nothing sets people off easier that a gun aimed at their face.

“I can’t trust you anymore, Whisper.” She turns towards him again, her eyes betraying the fact she’s startled by seeing him taking out a gun.  
“For all I know, you’ve already sold the HQ position to the Institute, or the Brotherhood!”  
Her eyes glance at the gun pointed towards her in disbelief, more hurt than anger in her eyes. “How _dare_ you!” it’s not a shout, nor a yell: it’s a growl. She had just _growled_ at him.

Fists at her sides, body stiffening, narrow pupils madly glaring at him “I have worked hard to make sure you and your petty organization survived this clash of titans you clearly didn’t stand a chance against to begin with! And now, you think you can just come in here, and spit on my work like that?!”  
She strides towards him, never breaking eye-contact and never glancing at the gun aimed at her chest.  
“You have survived just because you’re all like roaches – no matter how hard you get stepped on, you still manage to crawl back.” He can see her teeth clenching together, her nose wrinkling, her breathing accelerating. She surely wasn’t lying.

“So that’s why you made everything you could to finish us off?” she stops pacing in front of him, the tip of the gun practically pressed against her chest.  
“Why do you think you’re still breathing?” with a swift movement, she disarms him, pushing the gun against his chest, her other hand grabbing the collar of his shirt, her fingers slightly clawing at his skin through the thin material. “You were the one leading the game before. You’re pissed. I get it.” She glances at his lips for a moment, her eyes trailing over his cheekbones and fixing on his sunglasses, looking for his eyes. “But don’t ever doubt that if I had wanted you dead, you’d all be by now.”  
She lets go of him, and he silently releases the breath he hadn’t realized he had been holding.

His hand brushes the spot on his chest where her nails had grazed his skin. “You say you’re still working for us? Then prove it.” She raises her eyebrows at his statement. “Prove it?!”

She closes the gap between them and pushes the silenced 10 mm on his chest, their stares connecting in a sort of mad glaring contest.  
“Don’t ever get your eyes off the Prydwen. See if you appreciate my work.”  
She strides away from him and towards the door that brought downstairs, her hips swaying with each step she took.  
Deacon was now aware of two things: the first, is that his dangerous ally – to his own surprise – was probably still on the Railroad’s side. The second, is that they would have either ended up shooting each other or fucking all that tension out of their bodies – still unsure on which of the two she would have picked.

\-----

Night had come, and he had found a pretty neat spot inside one of the abandoned buildings: he had skipped his meal, too tense about what Whisper’s surprise would have been.  
She had been a crazy variable since the first day they had met, but she was right: the Railroad survived because of people like her. The Heavies were the ones that did the real job out there, maintaining the little other agents like Deacon had managed to conquer for the Railroad.  
But she was just wrong. For everything, for treating people like goods to be bargained.  
He knew better than her that this was a war. Hell, he had witnessed it in first person on more than one occasion. But there was an undrawn line that he had to respect, that no one in a perfect world should have ever crossed: he didn’t put other people’s lives on the line. It wasn’t fair, it wasn’t the way he operated, it just wasn’t something that should have been happening in the first place.

He kept staring inside the night scope of his sniper rifle towards the Prydwen: if something was happening – either on the airship or on the ground – no one was taking notice of it.  
Then, a couple of explosions sparkled radiation around the airport: a battle was starting.  
He sometimes caught a glimpse of her, dancing around the battlefield, throwing grenades and shooting and disappearing in stealth-boys mantles alike.  
She was a perfect goddess of war, and if he were the stupid asshole he had been in his youth he would have probably been aroused by such a view.

He saw her climbing on top of Liberty Prime’s tower: she was now wearing a stolen power armor – wonders how the poor bastard that had lost it had died. It was like seeing Glory in action, just with more synths around.  
He had unconsciously started counting his heartbeats: when he arrived at 24, they all disappeared from the airport, and when Liberty Prime turned its gaze towards the Prydwen, he was blinded by a beam of light and dropped the rifle with a painful groan, covering his hurt eye with the palm of his hand. He propped himself from the ground on his elbow and stared up, the beam of red light perfectly visible in the night sky cutting through the metallic majestic airship.  
He almost saw that in slow motion: people running for their lives, vertibirds detaching last-minute from the mother ship, the laser cutting through covering, main structure and the giant gas balloon like they were butter. The gas then, easily taking fire. Another blinding light, the airship blown up from the inside.  
The noise hits his ears later, dust swooshing in the streets following the line of impact traced by the explosion in the city, getting more and more distant from the landing place.

In the aftermath, as he remained there, watching the once main operating base of the Brotherhood being slowly consumed by fire until dawn, only one thought echoed over and over in his mind: that had been one hell of a boom.

\-----

She was in the same spot he had found her the previous day: a little more tattered, a little more tired, her courser jacket ripped here and there, but alive nonetheless.  
Thinking he had doubted her. Thinking _he was still_ doubting her. Her shoulders lowered as she exhaled deeply a puff of smoke, the table in front of her now notably dotted with stubs of cigarettes.  
“Stop playing the sneaky douche: I wasn’t followed.”  
He didn’t even know if she actually caught him sneaking or if she just blurted out that sentence every 2-3 minutes, just in case he was around.

“You feel like shit now?” she yells yanking her arm over the chair’s seat, turning her head to look at him.  
“You… have kept your word.” He admitted, both relieved and embittered by the news. “The Prydwen is down. Congrats.” A lopsided smile forms on his lips, the best he could do at his attempt to look friendly towards her.  
“See? I told ya.” She stands up and paces around the chair, taking a few steps towards him.  
“You still killed half the Railroad in the process.”  
She inhales sharply, reaches for him – still remaining at arm’s length – and puffs on the cigarette.  
“This is a war, Deacon. There are casualties. If I didn’t do what I did, we wouldn’t be here talking about it.”  
What pissed him the most, is that she knew how he cared about the only thing she kept fucking up every single time she stepped inside a building: she was deliberately poking him.  
With all the books he had read, he was almost ashamed that the only thought he had at that moment was ‘bring it on, bitch’, but it was with that attitude that he approached her.  
“Half the Commonwealth might be here – but wait! You killed them too, didn’t you?”

There they were again, arguing on that same topic as weeks ago, when they had parted ways. “Like you always do! If I had a cap for every person you shot “on instinct”.” He made sure to stress those two words by flexing index and middle finger of both hands twice.  
“Jesus Christ, Whisper! Everything you touch turns to ashes, you know that?!” he knew what would have sent her over the edge, but for the moment he was still unsure he wanted to see her furious like that.  
“We’re here to save people!” She snorts at that sentence, teeth clenched together. “Maybe you! I’m here because I want to bring those fuckers down, and not being a whiny fuss about it is the only way to get things done out here in the Commonwealth!”  
“How would you know?! You have never tried being ‘a whiny fuss’, never stopped to ask before shooting people in the face!” “Sorry if I wasn’t comprehensive when raiders shot at me. When civils, and synths, and all the rest of that god awful mutated crap that roams this place did. I just wanted my son back, and instead I got a world I had to save single-handedly from the same fuckers that did this to me in the first place!!”  
There’s tears in her eyes. There are always tears when she talks about the Institute.  
“There are other ways to do this rather than leaving a trail of destruction behind you!” She seems to not have even heard him, going on with her insults. “You’re a blind idealist! You gave up yourself for your precious Railroad so long ago you don’t even realize it’s not a pretty family you’ve been building!” he just stares at her as she continues: he doesn’t even know where she wants to go with that. It’s not like he hasn’t told himself those things already. It was clear the Railroad was not just a great part of his life – it practically _was_ him. And the fact that she had understood it and still did what she did hurt even more. “What were Glory and Tommy Whispers?! What is Tinker Tom?! They want revenge, not pander you and your stupid face-shifting mind-fucking game!”  
He knows he shouldn’t tap on that exposed nerve, but the temptation is too strong to resist. “This is what you’re jealous of? A family?” he’s not yelling, he’s barely murmuring. He takes a step back and almost smirks, sighing, going for the kill “Just like the one you have never had a chance of protecting in the first place?”

That’s it, her eyes turn bloodshot, a look he’ll never forget being given. He speaks again before she can “Tell me, was it worse being caged as you saw Kellogg killing your husband or knowing that even if you were out there you couldn’t have done a thing to stop it from happening?”

“Are you this desperate?” he almost visibly falters. “You’ve lost the control of the situation so badly you are trying with this? You’re pathetic, Deacon.” She says that sentence without blinking, staring at him, her voice barely a whisper.  
“Oh, ouch, maybe you mean just as much as someone clinging to her dream of finding her son again in that Institute bastard!”  
The same growling noise she had made before resonates in her chest as she clenches her teeth together. “Say that to my face, fucker!”  
Before he knows it, she’s tackled him to the ground, a knife had appeared in her hands. She tried to jab his chest with it, but he blocks her hit with his forearms, the blade deviated enough to stab the concrete just on the left side of his face.

He kicks her off of him, but barely manages to stand up again that she has already closed the little distance there was between them. He was able to evade and parry enough of her blows until he managed to land a punch on the left side of her face, grabbing then the knife with both hands and wrestling it out of her grip: it lands a few feet away from them, but before he can even think about something she makes him trip on the ground. As soon as he lands on the concrete he grabs her ankle, making her fall on it as well.

He climbs up her body, grabbing her wrists to keep her still. “Stop!” he says before she frees her hand and punches him right in the face, levering herself from the ground and rolling him underneath her. She sits on his lap and starts punching him – albeit the great deal of people that had tried to beat the shit out of him had taught Deacon how to defend himself effectively enough in this kind of situation. He parries most of her punches and pushes her underneath his weight again, rolling on the concrete floor.  
He blocks her fists mid air in his palms, pushing on her hands to keep her still.  
“We both said- things we didn’t mean-“ he wheezes, but he sees she’s already grunting and wiggling out of his grip. “I meant them all you stupid asshole!”  
“You’re not helping me here!” he yells as she pushes him away one more time, flinging her hand on the discarded knife and getting back on her feet.

He evades the attacks again until his back hits the wall; at that point, he grabs Whisper’s wrist during one of her stabs and slams her body against said wall, squeezing on her hand until the knife drops on the ground: at that clinking sound, she stops groaning and fighting, staring at him with wrinkled nose and serrated jaw, Deacon still pinning both her hands above her head.  
At that moment she realized he had lost his sunglasses: it probably had happened during the fight, although she hadn’t really registered it. It was the first time ever she directly saw Deacon’s eyes. A light shade of blue, crystal clear. Staring at her.  
“You done..?” he wheezes, seeing the strange glint in her eyes that always announced a bad idea coming. He tries to get away from her, pushing his body away from the wall, but he lingers for too long, her body warmth too inviting to be ignored; in a moment, her head snaps towards his, her lips crashing against his in a fierce, passionate kiss. He tries to push her away but he doesn’t last for long as her hands move up and down his torso, his leg between hers as she presses herself against him – his thigh, his chest, and _God_ didn’t it feel so good.  
He shamelessly grabs her ass, one cheek in each hand, and lifts her from the ground, her legs almost immediately wrapping around his sides as her back was being pressed against the wall behind her. “Dee-“ he looks up, seeing her face all flushed and needy and simply beautiful like that.  
He buries his face in her neck, light kisses and quick nibbling at her throat as she moaned wantonly at his ministrations.

He didn’t know for how long they remained like that – she must have taken off her coat at some point, just a thin black sleeveless shirt between him and her skin – her legs hooked around his hips as he kissed lower and lower on her collarbone, when her hand reached between their bodies, palming the erection that was painfully pushing against the fabric of his jeans.  
He looks down at her hand pressing against the dick shaped form on his thigh for a second, before gazing back at her face; she licked her lips in that way that always drove him mad, but his brain had finally managed to function – thanks to the little amount of blood that hadn’t flooded downstairs – and reminded him of the hard truth: the Institute was still on his tracks.

“Not here-“ he mumbles in-between kisses. “The Institute’s crows-“ Whisper looks at him, then sideways to the open door at their side. “Get inside.” She wheezes. “You do realize if they caught you with me-“ she yanks his chest closer to her, her lips ghosting just above his ear. “I want your dick inside of me- I need it, Dee. Throbbing and thrusting in my tight little pussy, it’ll be the ride of your life, I promise.” She bites on his earlobe. Not hard, just enough to send that chill down his spine that traveled straight to his groin.  
His mind must have blacked out for a moment- he barely recalled grabbing her tighter- pressing her against himself, as he walked the few steps that separated them from a safe closed room. Stairwell. Whatever, until there was enough space to fuck her, he was good.

As soon as the door closes behind them, she kisses him again before standing in front of him and dropping to her knees, hands already fiddling with the fly of his pants, her hand reaching inside to finally free his length, which wobbled lightly before she wrapped her hand around it and gave it an explorative stroke, the head already beaded with pre-cum. She looks up at him while she puts out her tongue and laps at his slit, following then the length of his dick down to his base and licking back up.

She licks along his shaft again, coating it with saliva, her lips pressing against the sensitive skin from time to time and sucking at it lightly, her eyes almost never leaving his.  
When she finally moves to align her mouth with the tip of his cock, he is already panting: she takes just his head in, licking it before placing a kiss on it, enjoying the frustrated lusty expression painted on his face.  
“Sole- Please…”  
He doesn’t remember saying those words and he completely forgets about how to think when her mouth takes him in again, swallowing inch by inch his full length in that wet welcoming throat. Blessings and curse words flee from his mouth alike as she proceeds bobbing her head, humming from time to time just to push him a little bit farther towards the edge.  
_This is what a sweet torture must feel like…_ he licks his lips and looks down at her, his hand cupping the back of her head, following her movements for a while, before her sharp eyes look up at him. “Are you ready Dee?”

“I’m ready yesterday.” His hand caresses her jaw as she stands up and takes off her pants, throwing it and her boots to the other end of the little room. He places a kiss on her shoulder, his hand trailing down her sides and grabbing her ass cheeks, his cock brushing against the crack of her butt. He places another kiss on her neck, dragging one of his hands from her ass to her belly and then groin, his fingers finding her slit and delicately brushing inside, her moan one of the most beautiful things he’s heard in ages.  
He would have wanted to take it more slowly – to eat her up until she would have literally begged him to fuck her – but his cock was aching to be inside her folds and he was tired of playing around with her – for today, at least.

He leaves a sloppy kiss on her skin as he penetrates her: just one quick motion to fill her up to the hilt, her surprised gasp something he had wanted to hear in a long time. He hears her inhaling deeply when he pulls out of her, leaving just the tip inside: instead of slamming back again, he let two of his fingers softly massage her clit in soothing circles, his other hand snaking under her shirt and cupping her breast, his thumb brushing lightly against her nipple.  
Just as she relaxed again he sunk deeper inside her, slower this time, his saliva coated dick easily sliding inside her pussy.  
“You feel perfect-“ she clenches her walls around him and the feeling makes his head spin “Just- keep on like this, babe.”

The hand working on her clit parts her lips open, one finger lazily tracing circles on her now exposed sensitive flesh: he wanted so much to eat her up, but he also wanted to keep fucking her. He didn’t think he could have done it, not without some warming up exercises and assisting to a few yoga lessons first.  
For now he relished every moan and yell that escaped her lips, picking up the pace in hope to make her go louder.

Suddenly, he pulled out of her and turned her around, an hungry expression she had never seen on his face.  
“Get down.” She didn’t realize it was an order until he placed his hand on her shoulder, pressing on it until she laid back on the floor, Deacon following suit: he placed himself between her legs and _pulled_ her body against his, his cock finding her pussy again.  
He pulled her shirt up her chest, exposing her perfect breasts, throwing away his own shirt when she gestured him to. Skin against skin felt much better, his head buried in her tits, sucking and nibbling.  
She kept sinking her fingernails in his back and he was squeezing so hard on her hips that he would have probably left bruises, but neither of them really cared, not when they were so close.  
For a moment their stares connect, and Deacon presses his mouth against hers one more time, his hand reaching between her legs and stroking at her sensitive flesh, sending her over the edge. He was able to thrust a few more times before giving in and let her drag him in his own orgasm.

It's like all that tension that was tormenting him finally vanished as he leans on his arms, slowly lowering himself on her chest to avoid collapsing on top of her, his broader body enveloping hers in a tight hug. Her heart is racing like crazy, and the only other noise is their satisfied sighs, echoing in the room from time to time.  
After catching up his breath he pulls out of her and she kisses his temple, her arms loosely wrapped around his shoulders as their legs tangled up with each other’s.  
She kisses him again on his swollen lips before he rolls at her side, Whisper leaning herself against him, head resting on his pectoral as his arms lazily wrapped around her.  
His hand brushes through her long locks, and he presses her closer to his body when she sighs tiredly, sated. It was a noise he had never thought she was capable of making, and he was somehow glad for being the cause of it.  
He caresses her cheek, and when her bright eyes look up at him she’s immediately drawn to her lips again, kissing her gently. She climbs on top of him and deepens the kiss, straddling his stomach, her wet pussy brushing against his skin.

She… giggles? As his hands brush against her hips and belly. “It tickles.” She says looking at him with a smile. Never thought she would have been the ticklish type. Good to know.  
She rests on top of him, her whole body practically hugging his torso, the side of her head resting against his sternum, following its movements as he breathed. She didn’t weight much, so it wasn’t really bothering him. He was actually feeling so good he was thinking about taking a nap, letting the Commonwealth solve its problems by itself for a little while.  
But no, that would have been just too easy, just too much not like him. With that idea firmly stated in his head, he looked down to see Sole softly snoring against his chest.

_Well… great minds think alike._

This close, he could see how tired she looked: dark circles around her eyes, her skin almost sunburnt, and after last night new scars and wounds were added to the long list of the ones he already knew about. Plus their clash before, she didn’t really look good. One of her cheeks had started turning to a scarlet purple color, but he was sure part of his face was assuming just the same hue.

She was holding herself together, albeit barely.  
He caresses her hair, leaning forward to place a kiss on her forehead- she hums appreciatively, her eyelids tiredly opening up.  
She sits straighter on top of him, suppressing a yawn. “I think it’s time to get ready to hit the road again.” Deacon sighs as he sits up as well: as much as he didn’t want to admit it, he had been enjoying his time with her. “Alright- wait a second…” before she can move, he raises her shirt again and looks straight at her boobs “Right click… File… Save as…” Sole slaps his hand away and he can’t help but snicker at her.

She glances at him and closes her eyes, smiling, sighing, before standing up and fetching her belongings from around the place, while he stuffs his softening cock back inside his pants, taking a mental note to look after the scratches she had given him as soon as he had some alone time – he was pretty sure his back had been reduced to a bloody canvas.

He opens the door and gets out while putting his white shirt back on, the sun now high in the cloudless sky: he walks around the rooftop and fetches his sunglasses, sighing when he saw their now chipped side. He put them back on anyway, and looked as Sole gestured him to sit near her against the wall. A lit cigarette is already between her plump lips, and she passes him another one and the lighter: Deacon lights it as well before sitting next to her, their gazes looking anywhere but at each other.  
They smoked in silence, as if that was an untold agreement between the two of them.

The time of a smoking break before she stands up again, readying her backpack to continue her journey in the ‘wealth.  
Before leaving, she stops in front of him and grabs the collar of his shirt again, pulling him for another, last lovingly kiss.  
“You cloud my judgement.” He whispers, so close he can still feel the softness of her lips on his. “And you _never_ listen to me.” She replies as her lips push against his once more, her tongue lazily brushing against the roof of his mouth before parting.

“Go call Des. I’m getting you inside the Institute tonight.”

He sighs and nods.  
“Try not to get killed, Whisper.”  
She just smirks and turns around, swaying her hips the way she always did.

Goddamnit.

He had never loved and hated someone as much as her.


End file.
